When All Hope Is Lost
by caitmonty
Summary: *AU* Charles, a soldier in the British military during WWII, comes across Erik in a Nazi concentration camp, saving him.
1. Chapter 1

As they crossed the field, Charles could smell the death in the air. His unit had been asked to report to one of the camps the nazi's had abandoned after they cleared out and retrieve any survivors. He couldn't have possibly mentally prepared himself for what they found over the hill.

There were bodies stacked high next to bonfires that were still smoldering. Dead men, women and children were chained to a brick wall, all apparently gunned down. But what Charles found the hardest to stomach were the survivors. Men and few women remained, obviously less of the individuals they used to be. As they unlocked the gate, and several rushed out, Charles took note of one that was struggling to get to his feet. As hard as it was to keep himself from crying at the entirety of the sight before them, it was even harder to watch this man, still clinging to life, fight with what little he had left in him to get to his feet. For that last bit of freedom before he may collapse and die.

Charles knelt next to the man, from what he could guess, the man was a little older then himself, a soft pair of blue-green eyes caught his own as he pulled out his canteen and offered what little he had left in it. He unwrapped a pack of biscuits and offered it as well. His mates were busy tending with the rest So be truly saw no harm in helping one individual who may not even make it back to camp.

One of the Americans that had joined their group, he went by Logan, stepped over to Charles, a deep frown on his face, "I'm not sure if we've got enough food for all these people back at camp. I had Scott radio in to get a few medivacs out here so we can take some of the sicker ones in. Did you want to ride with in with the first wave?"

Charles' eyes never left the man in front of him's face. He simply nodded in response as a deep sense of anger and rage ran through him. He wanted the people responsible hanged for this. Logan simply grunted in response before turning and leaving.

Charles knew enough German to get him through conversation, so he hoped the other would understand, "Just hang in a little longer. If you do we can get you some help. You'll be safe."

The man simply shifted his eyes back to Charles' face, his hand seemingly following suit. Charles immediately took it, giving it a warm squeeze before removing his fatigue coat an propping the man up to wrap it around his shoulders. "You're safe."

There was a faint sound that Charles barely made out, and want even sure he heard at all until he saw the man trying to speak. Leaning in, he managed to get the name, "Erik." trying to give him a warm, reassuring smile, he told him, "It's nice to meet you, Erik. I'm Charles."

The exchange didn't last long as two medics came over to remove Erik. It didn't go as planned though. Despite the man's condition, he seemed to fight the moment he was pulled away from Charles. After a struggle, one medic requested Charles to return back with them to camp until they could get the man treated. Logan and Charles' superior officer agreed.

The ride back was quieter then expected. The wounded were mostly emaciated so he wasn't all too surprised. Erik however sickly looking, already seemed to have had some color return to his sharp cheekbones. There was a time where Charles found himself yet again holding the man's hand if only to comfort him. Something about it felt right. And when he let go, he admittedly felt a little saddened.

Their separation happened even faster once they arrived at the American run infirmary. He barely had a chance to say anything reminiscent of a goodbye as Erik was taken away, struggling again. Charles made move to protest, but was he back by a nurse. It was the last time he thought he'd see the man. Pulling an extra set of tags from his pocket, he offered it to the nurse, asking beryl give them to the man. If he couldn't be there to help him, he wanted to give the man something to hold onto. With that, he was sent back to his tent to wait for the return of his squad, and tried his hardest to not let the faces of the dead and dying affect him as much as he felt they had.

Seven weeks passed and it was all over. Charles' squad had been one of the first sent home. They were treated like heroes when they returned to a war beaten London. And despite the destruction, there were smiles on faces. It gave Charles at least a sense of healing.

He was only twenty, and was fortunate enough to be granted the ability to return to school. But he found it hard to focus. The faces that haunted his nightmares he would always see around him. The faces of the sick and the dying. The man named Erik, who he had affectionately nicknamed the fighter. He never gave up trying to contact the man. He wrote letters, numbers of letters that he instructed the nurses and the doctors to deliver. He was never sure what to write, but he simply told the other of himself. Charles had no one back home that had ever written to him, so there was some sense of satisfaction in sending one out himself. He knew his written German wasn't all that fantastic, so he eventually began writing in English. Often he prayed the man could read them. He built up a one sides relationship with the man, one he never expected to hear from again. As far as he knew, Erik could have died.

Three months passed, Charles had rebuilt the part of his family's home that was damaged in the bombing raids, and he was enrolled in classes for the fall at Oxford. Things were finally reaching a certain sense of normalcy.

Until there was a knock at the door one afternoon in late May.

Charles had finished with his mother's garden (she was out for the rest of the month and figured it'd be a nice gesture to fix up for her) and was wearing a soft gray set of trousers that were now soiled at the knees and the white button up that was his father's was rolled up at the sleeves, keeping his dirty hands away from staining the material. He was certain there was dirt on his face by this point from all the times he'd attempted to itch his nose with his wrist whilst tending to the small rose bushes that were quickly out of hand. And his hair would have been a mess as he'd done nothing with it since the moment he woke. Today wasn't a day he was expecting to go out. Or visitors. So the barely heard knock had him wondering.

Looking over his hands while making a face, he rinsed them quickly and dried them on the thighs of his trousers as he moved for the door. It was probably one of his mother's friends checking in on him, checking yet again to see that he was eating properly or if he needed anything.

He didn't even bother checking the eye hole in the door as he swung the door open with a welcoming smile. The person on the other side was the last he thought he would ever see.

It was a man. Taller then himself, a bit older, lean with broad shoulders. His brown hair was brushed out into a rather perfect angled part (though the loose strands looked a little messy if from travel) and there was a distinctive strong jaw trailing up to cheekbones just as strong. To a pair of blue-green eyes that were terribly familiar. Ones he'd seen in nightmares. Often ones he couldn't save in those nightmares. The man's hand was pressed to his chest in a fist, a set of tags were held tightly there as though he protected them with his life and the other clutched a saddlebag that sat on his hip. He looked as though he was about to cry. It was when Charles realized he already was.

Erik.

He never expected in his life that the man he'd thought about for days on end after rescuing, he would ever see again. Let alone search him out. He thought of the words he'd written, basically telling this man his life without knowing a thing about him. He'd opened himself completely to a stranger that he never imagined seeing again. Erik, by the time the war ended, was a thought in his head. No longer a person. But this person was standing on his door, baited breath. Waiting for Charles to say something, or was ready to say something himself.

"Charles Xavier." It sounded so different. He'd never heard this voice. It was deep, warmer even. This was no longer the man that needed saving. This was a man that had regained his strength and carried on from death to a new life. Charles was almost proud, and overwhelmingly flattered at the gesture of Erik coming all the way here to see him.

Wiping away tears he hadn't realized he was shedding, he broke into a smile, laughing softly and opening the door wide. "Erik." It felt good to say, felt even better seeing the man's face light up when his name was said.

The hug came incredibly natural to them. It was unspoken as the two moved almost at the same time, arm over arm, pulling them both into a tight embrace. This body was warm, Charles thought. It wasn't the frail shell he'd seen in the camp. It was strong and warm and so close. Charles' hands were clenched tightly into the man's shirt, not wanting to let go. But Erik was just as close and clinging. A huge weight had been lifted off Charles' chest at this. The knowledge that Erik was safe, that he'd healed, physically at least, felt good.

"I'm so glad you're alright. I wasn't able to see you after that day, I wanted to, I wasn't able to though..." Charles didn't realize he'd pushed his face against the man's collarbone while he turned it to speak to him but not let go.

"I know. I know, Charles. You told me. Every letter you wrote. I kept them all. I remember everything." There was something about his voice that was incredibly calming. As though Charles had been the one who had gone through hell and Erik was the one that found him. "My name is Erik Lensherr. I couldn't get my last name out when you spoke to me that day, and I never had an address to write back to you despite getting all the letters. It took me awhile to find you. I'm sorry I couldn't find you sooner." He could tell that Erik had a distinct German accent, but the English has seemed to sink in.

Finally realizing they were still hugging, Charles found it hard to pull away, but did. "Please come inside. Please. Tea, anything, just..." He broke into an awkward smile but stepped aside to let the other in, "Please come in. Make yourself at home."


	2. Chapter 2

There was an awkward moment where, once Erik had walked inside, Charles wasn't exactly sure what to do. All this had been so surprising, ultimately overwhelming in an emotional sense. And on top of everything, he was starting to take the other in. He hadn't even noticed the warmth growing in his cheeks when those eyes that brought every moment back to him rested on his own. "So tea. This way."

Heading off down he hall, Charles brought them into the kitchen. He had a hard time not laughing at the look of it. His mother had decorated their kitchen much like a garden. You could tell it wasn't something a man would most likely do.

His back to the other, he moved to put the kettle on and went to speak. He was stopped by the hand on his shoulder.

"I cannot thank you enough for what you did that day. You didn't have to stay with me on the ride back." Erik was close. Closer then what some may deem appropriate. But Charles didn't move away, instead he turned to face him as he continued. "For every letter you wrote, I wrote one back. I didn't know how to get them to you after I was taken to a French hospital. But I wanted you to have them all. The letters I wrote. It's hardly a thank you for what you did, but it's all I have to offer you for the time being. Other then my assistance in whatever you may need."

Charles took the letters in his hands, looking over the pages and pages of them. This was far more then what he had sent. "I...I really don't know what to say." He looked back up at Erik, a thoughtful smile on his face, "I really appreciate this. All of it. More than anything though, I'm just glad you're alright. I had no idea how you were the moment they separated us. Obviously you're well now thankfully."

Erik's face fell, the pain in those eyes were so intense that Charles could feel it. "When you found me, I'd just lost my mother a few days prior. She was all I had left, the only thing that really had me fighting. I had given up. The Nazi commander that was watching over us was going to leave when she moved to beg him to let us out. They really had no need for us any longer..."

The man's body visibly tightened, his fists clenching and Charles could easily see the anger and sorrow. Before Erik had a chance to erupt, Charles set the letters down and moved to pull Erik down, hugging him close. It wasn't something he would normally do, but Erik was in so much pain, he wanted to make it as right as he could.

Charles could feel Erik's body shudder with each sob, but the man stayed silent. "I want you to stay. I don't mind, really. But stay as long as you like."

He could feel Erik pressing his face against his neck, how their bodies moved together so easily. Charles was a bit concerned with how his body was reacting with the contact though. The idea of Erik feeling him pressed against his hip wasn't exactly something the other would find comforting. But Erik pressed their bodies closer still until the man had an arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other was low around his back. "You don't have to do all this for me. I can stay at the hotel near the train station."

"You can stay here." Charles turned his head to look at Erik. Those bluish eyes ringed with red stared right back at him. "For as long as you like. I doubt I'd grow tired of your company."

"You know nothing about me."

"I know enough."

Erik said nothing, but made no move to pull away. He simply held Charles close, almost protectively in the kitchen until the pot began to scream. Tea was ready. With a soft smile, Charles leaned in against Erik's ear, "Let me get this and we can talk more, or not talk. Whatever you're more comfortable with."

The strong arms around Charles loosened, allowing him to fetch them two cups of tea. Setting them on the counter, he turned around to face Erik and found himself reaching up to the man's face. His eyes widened at his own actions, finding them completely inappropriate for two people who really knew very little about one another. And besides that, it was intimate. He was yet more surprised at Erik's reaction.

Erik's head leaned gently into the touch, his eyes closing. He looked incredibly peaceful now, much different then his expression just a few moments ago. Charles didn't much pay attention to how close Erik was pulling him again, or how the man was leaning in close to his face. However, the moment their foreheads were resting against one anothers, Erik's eyes finally opened, aware of the position he had put them in. It didn't cause him to move away though. "You gave me more than just my life that day. I'd given up on everything."

Charles could feel the warm blush growing in his cheeks. Erik was looking at him like no one had before and he couldn't even hear himself speaking with the thrum of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, "I...finished making tea?"

Oh. Best response ever.

He nearly killed himself from embarrassment, but he could hear Erik's chuckle deep inside his chest. Looking up, he was faced with a large toothy grin that was slightly intimidating but it made Charles smile and laugh in response. "Tea would be fine for now, Charles. Can I help you with anything else?"

Shaking his head, Charles brought them and the tea over to the small dining room table. They discussed Erik's journey from Paris where he'd been recovering after the war and his trek here to London. It was impressive. Erik really had been to hell and back and spit in the face of the devil all in the same go. He'd heard people call him and his boys coming home heroes, but he couldn't really see any of them being heroes (despite Erik's feelings on the subject). They had done their jobs, they'd defended their country and home. And they saved as many as they could on the way. In his opinion it was never enough, but there wasn't much you could in most cases. Most cases, meaning the situation he'd found Erik in. Erik was a fighter, despite what he'd confessed. Anyone else would have died. But here he was, looking the picture of health and happy. Outwardly happy, but not completely happy. It made Charles want to do everything he could for him.

When they'd finished, Erik insisted on helping him clean, and then let him know he needed to pick up his bags from the station before it closed in the evening for dinner. Charles offered to go with him, but Erik insisted that he stay. Letting Erik go, he turned back into the kitchen and noticed the letters on the counter.

Charles had taken his seat at the dining table again and started off with the first letter. It was in response to Charles telling Erik everything about himself. Erik detailed his life in Germany with his parents. About how he worked for his father, how his mother worked out of the home as a seamstress. They were a normal family. But because they were Jewish they had their lives ripped from them. It was heartbreaking as Erik detailed how they'd killed his girlfriend at the time to get them to come out of their home, how his father had been beaten for trying to get the Nazi guards off of his mother. He'd been knocked unconscious by another when he tried to get to them both and woken once they had reached processing at the camp. They'd given him a number and taken away his name, his identity. Everything he knew was gone. And how, up until Charles had found him, he figured he'd die in that hell hole.

Despite how much he'd tried to hold back emotion while he read the letter, Charles found himself crying. The pain that was poured onto these pages was incredible. He could feel his heart breaking, not just from what was written, but at where Erik was now. The man seemed happy, but incredibly well kept together. He had his moments, he was sure, but Erik Lensherr could have fooled the world with that smile.

Trying to wipe his tears, Charles started on the second letter.

This one was written a few days after, probably after he'd had a decent meal and had been patched up. Erik went more into his life at home, talking about the things he liked, about playing football with the locals in town. He was a normal guy for the most part. The only part he was vague about was his girlfriend, which he didn't seem to mention all that much.

The next two letters were similar and shorter. The fourth one was from Paris.

Erik had detailed the painful process of building back up muscle and normal body fat, how his stomach had shrank to such a small size that he barely had an appetite on a good day. Or how he had to force himself to eat just so he could get through a day. He spoke of running into someone from his home town, and how they were completely lost mentally. The man had run a bread shop in town, according to Erik was a normal man like the rest of them, but hadn't dealt with the loss very well. Erik said he felt blessed, that he'd been saved. And how much he wished to see Charles again.

The next letter was similar, but talked more about trying to find out where Charles lived. His hopes that Charles would even want to see him or talk with him. But he seemed set on at least coming by to say thank you and deliver these letters.

Charles himself shared the sentiment.

The last one was written directly to Charles, the tone much more personal. Erik wrote it when he was on the train on his way here from Wales. He wrote how excited and worried he was about this meeting. He hoped that Charles wanted to see him. That he would let him thank him. That he would offer his whole being for what Charles had given him. That Charles shouldn't ever disregard how his actions shaped the rest of his life. That Erik didn't feel alone anymore. It was beyond service for staying with him as long as he could and the few letters that followed from Charles made him feel as though he had something left to live for. He hoped that Charles would read these letters and understand what he meant to him.

Charles was crying again, but he was smiling. He never would have thought saving Erik would have made such a huge impact in the man's life. He'd never touched anyone that deeply.

And he didn't hear Erik head back inside.

"I didn't mean to make you upset with those."

The voice jolted him from his thoughts. Charles carefully folded up the letters, wiping his eyes as he got up to his feet.

"I mean... This has gone far better then I ever thought it could. You've been so welcoming and warm. Kind. Essentially we know very little about one another, though you gave me more information about yourself. I wanted.." Erik slowly closed the space between them, taking a deep breath before speaking once he was in front of Charles, "I found myself objectifying you while I healed. You were my source of hope, you were something I found myself looking forward to. I wanted to meet you again, as something more then the broken man you met. You shared more with me then just anyone would have. You didn't have to do that. You could have just left and hoped for the best. You didn't though."

Charles realized he'd moved closer to Erik, that their closeness was much more personal now. In his mind, he wanted to know everything about Erik. "You were different, Erik. It sounds like something in one of those movies, but there was something about you. You were more then just another victim. You were more."

The man smiled and closed the remaining distance between them, his hands moved to lift Charles' face. Charles' large blue eyes stared back up at him but fluttered when warm lips pressed themselves just above his left eye.

"You've given me comfort in times where I had none. You gave me hope when there was none to be had."

Charles was going to object, to tell him he was just doing what he thought was right, but he knew it was more then that. But he had no time to comment as another warm kiss landed on his cheekbone near his left eye.

Oh. This was unexpected. He wasn't objecting though.

Reaching up, Charles' hands smoothed shakily over Erik's stomach and up to his chest. The man had leaned in so close they were sharing the same air. Charles wanted this, more then he might like to admit vocally, but he certainly wasn't going to deny either of them this.


End file.
